


Bodies

by Letterblade



Category: Xenosaga
Genre: Age Difference, Body Dysphoria, Community: kink_las, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-02
Updated: 2011-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:47:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Letterblade/pseuds/Letterblade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's a twenty-eight-year-old genetically engineered super-soldier in a thirteen-year-old body. She's a biological construct who just had her body upgraded from age twelve to age eighteen. Together, they drink wine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bodies

**Author's Note:**

> Written for round 5 of Kink LAS: age play. I'd promised myself when I signed up for the comm that I would write this pairing if that challenge came up, as it's so rife with age weirdness in all directions. I don't think I was able to do it justice within the word count limit, but I tried.

"You've just had sixteen hours of surgical upgrades, MOMO. You sure you're up for this?"

MOMO's three strides ahead of him on brand-new legs, bouncing. "I feel _fine_ , Junior." She'd been out like a light; he'd been pacing the waiting room feeling time move like molasses. Ziggy, her bodyguard, had been a monolith in the corner while Junior--her, what, boyfriend? Wannabe boyfriend? Chaste childhood companion? Dead human sister's sloppy seconds?--climbed the walls. Even if he hadn't been worried like hell--MOMO was a unique model, and so were her upgrade procedures--his damn body wouldn't stay _still_. The first rush of puberty, fifteen years late, was doing a number on him.

"Seriously? Doesn't it hurt? Hurt like a bitch when I grew five centimeters last month..."

"Junior." She rounds on him, takes him by the shoulders, and looks-- _down_ at him. Shit, she's tall. Not even _that_ tall. He's just still fucking _short_. "You're being a butt." Said in that calm, cheerful way she's learned--practically the same way he says no to his _dog_.

He blinks, and suppresses laughter. Here's MOMO, most amazing girl in the universe, with gorgeous golden eyes and--

MOMO has tits.

His brain cracks slightly.

They're very nice tits.

He's known her for two years now. Two years in her original body, modeled after a twelve-year-old girl. Aging slightly, subtly, as Realians can--she's a biological construct, after all, not an android, and a very realistic one at that. An awesome, badass, tough-as-nails twelve-year-old who could survive _anything_ and still be sweet, whom he'd loved madly in what he'd prayed was a suitably chaste fashion, but. Twelve. Now she's a head taller than him and has tits. Overnight.

"Of course I'm being a butt. I'm thirteen."

"Your body's thirteen." She smiles warmly. "You're twenty-eight."

He groans. "Don't remind me." That he'd been marching into war, test-tube super-soldier clone, before she'd even been created. That he'd killed and bled and sent his brothers to their deaths before she'd been a gleam in her daddy-scientist's eye. "My _hormones_ are thirteen. Never had to deal with that before."

She goes still for a moment, then hugs him. "Oh, Junior." She nuzzles his hair; his face is right. There. "I'm tall enough to go on the super-speed coaster, _finally_ \--"

"For which I officially hate you."

"Love you too." She kisses the top of his head. Oh, hell. "And then we're going to. Um. Talk."

His thirteen-year-old lizard brain translates 'talk' to something else entirely, and he stands there red-faced as she skips off to stand in line.

* * *

MOMO comes off the coaster thrumming with excitement, hair tangled, heart soaring.

Junior's waiting for her, always faithful.

Her stride is long, awkward. Her body moves in ways she's not used to yet, hips widened, breasts shifting under her dress. The top of Junior's head is a novel sight. He feels small in her arms, strangely miniature. She swings him, platform boots off the ground, like he used to swing her when she was--

A child.

She doesn't know what she is anymore.

They have dinner at his place, with Alby pawing her knee for scritches, drinking good wine that she isn't legal for and he isn't big enough for. He gets very red.

He looks so _different_. Not just aging--that she's been growing used to, running its natural course after he finally worked through fifteen years' worth of morbid terror that he'd destroy a planet if he grew up. Fifteen years of small-grip pistols, custom-fit pants, and compromising for the frustration he felt, adult soldier in a child's body, with an unbelievably phallic warship. Fifteen years of acting like a kid because before then, child soldier, he never could.

No, he looks different _now_. She's gone from twelve to eighteen overnight, and here's a boy that she loves, barely out of childhood, but her sensors feed her data on physical responses, hormone levels, read him as sexually maturing, and it makes her _want_. Her body hums with strange heat. Her body that she's too young for. She squirms in her seat. It's powerful, heady. No wonder Junior's red.

"Junior," she says, "I do love you, you know."

He spills his wine.

"If I," she presses on. "Oh, this is complicated. I'm sorry."

"It's always complicated with us," he mutters. "Us. Listen to me. _Is_ there an us?"

She touches his hand. "Do you want there to be?"

"That's the least fair thing you've ever asked me." He's babbling, and he doesn't care. "I'm a twenty-eight-year-old virgin, I'm thirteen, and this stupid little body insists it's all grown up and ready to--"

"You're not thirteen," she whispers, and kisses him. Really kisses him, first time, all tongue and fumbling enthusiasm. He shakes with arousal, wraps around her with super-human strength.

"Are you," he blurts.

"This body. It _wants_."

"Ohffuck. Are we actually--"

"Why not?"

He stares at her with bright blue eyes and can't find an answer.

Their bodies tumble to the floor with wills of their own. She's grinding against his knee without even realizing it--she with sensors that can analyze DNA at forty meters--and he's running child-soft gun-callused hands over her breasts, hypnotized. Her fingers tug at his pants, reach inside, scattering of hair, dick still small but terribly hard.

He flares at her touch, mindless with want. Telekinetic energy crackles, and his eyes flash red, and he shouts "oh fuckfuckfuck," but it stops there. She modulates her emitters with an absent thought and bathes them in cool white wavelengths, canceling him out. He looks up at her with wide eyes, a little scared, a little helpless; she kisses him, and his foreskin slides, and he comes slippery on her hands.

"Sorry, oh god, MOMO..."

She rolls him over on top of her. "Oh, Junior. Your body--"

"Impatient thing."

She guides his hands under her skirt. "Doesn't matter. Still want you. Always."

He goes very still for a moment, eyes wide, then buries his soft young face in her breasts. "Always."


End file.
